Greg vs House
by nighttime writer
Summary: And here I am. Back on square one, though I supposed I never left it to begin with. It’s funny how messed up this friendship is. Wilson talks to House after House finishes teaching class takes place after Three Stories RR please no slash
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Read author's note at bottom.

Disclaimer: Not mine

(Takes place after Episode "Three Stories" (tells students about infarction)

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Wilson's POV

House told his story. House told his very private, very painful, very real story, to a group of strangers nonetheless. I think it's the most I've ever heard him talk in five years. The students don't appreciate the knowledge he shared with them the same way Cuddy and I do. Foreman, Chase, and Cameron simply sat flabbergasted…and ashamed. I could see it in their eyes.

And now I stand just behind the wall, before all the offices start. I don't know how long I've been standing here. I don't know what to say to him. We've talked about it every now and then…but he never really openly discussed this with me. I mean for crying out loud we're guys! Guys don't share feelings, we don't talk about this sort of stuff, especially House.

"How long you planning on standing there?" House's yelling brought me back to reality.

I mentally cringed unsure of how long House knew of my presence. I stepped out from behind the wall and made my way to the familiar dark office. The ducklings had long been gone, not wanting to stick around for a very awkward chat. Surprisingly, even Cameron chose to leave instead of question.

"How'd you know I was there?" I asked plopping down on the couch.

"I could see your shadow. You aren't very good at hide and seek," House said sarcastically, continuing to play with his yoyo.

"Oh," I clasped my hands together nervously. "So…that was an interesting class you were teaching." I started.

"Yeah, well tell the idiot who is supposed to be teaching that class to quit drinking out of a lead cup, maybe he would be there more often."

"I think the kids appreciated you coming in and talking to them," I offered.

"That kid with the glasses reminded me of Chase."

"The one who came looking for you?" I asked trying to remember the faces.

"That one…with a little Foreman on the side. Thought he was all that and a bag of chips."

"He was pretty smart," I said, though I knew I wasting my breath.

"Yeah, he'd only kill all three patients in all three scenarios."

"I thought the golf patient was pretty interesting," I started, grabbing for House's oversized tennis ball.

"I don't care," House said his eyes focused on the ground.

"You going to treat Stacey's husband?" I asked curiously.

"Please don't tell me you're here to talk about my feelings," House said disgusted. "Next thing you know you're going to be asking me which tampon feels the best."

"Well I've been told that Tampax Pearls are pretty comfortable," I said playing along.

"What? Do you and Cameron go shopping with each other?"

I rolled my eyes. There were so many words that I wanted to say. But I couldn't because I know House wouldn't answer them. I needed to word everything properly. There's some sort of delicate balance to it.

"You never ever really told me everything about the infarction."

House caught his yoyo in his hand and held it. His eyes scanned the room unsurely before finally landing on an invisible spot besides my shoes.

"You were there. I didn't think you needed any explanation."

"You never told me you felt dead." I added.

"Now why would I tell you that?" House asked coolly.

"House. I was there. I mean I saw your pain, at times I felt it, but I never knew that it was so overwhelming that you just felt dead."

"No. I said that the patient felt dead and had visions. We're not even talking about me here." He growled out.

"Right. The golf guy," I said sarcastically. "Listen House I'm not the ducklings, or Lisa. It's me you're talking to." I reassured.

"Can you leave it alone?" He asked quietly.

"Can you?" I countered.

House's head dropped, his eyes focused on a spot besides his own shoes now. The atmosphere was so tense someone could have come in and cut through it with a machete knife. I didn't know what to say, and I hated myself for it. How can I consider myself his best friend when I couldn't even say anything?

"Did you eat?" I decided to say.

House shook his head following my lead. "Chinese take out?"

"What else is there?" I asked standing from my spot on the couch.

I watched Greg turn off the two lamps before grabbing his cane and heading towards the door. Sometimes I couldn't stand to see the cane. I knew him before he had it. I knew him when he wasn't snark, or rude, or depressed. Sometimes I wished that I could have that friend back. Sometimes I wish that he could just be the person who he used to be.

He's totally different now. I can't even remember the last time I've ever heard him laugh. It's sad that since before that week five years ago I've never heard my best friend truly laugh like he didn't have a care in the world. So many things have changed since then. Pain was his life. Pain controlled his life. It was disgusting. He no longer had any control of his life even if he wished he had.

We sat around the familiar table with different white boxes strewn on top of it. A glass of scotch replaced the normal coke he used to have all those years ago. We were watching the game, though now watching at all. In all honesty I didn't even know who was playing right now. A quick glance at the TV told me it was a baseball game from the 80's playing on ESPN classic.

"Damn it. I hate the cubs," House said taking a gulp while watching some player run the bases.

"Would you get mad at me if I start asking you questions again?" I sighed throwing down the empty container on the table, chopsticks still in my own hand.

"I'd get mad if you interrupted this game yes," House warned.

"Too bad," I said shutting the TV off.

"HEY!" House said standing up and hopping over to the set, turning it back on.

"House you've watched this game twice already!" I said taking a stab in the dark.

"I like this game," House stated.

"Fine," I resigned.

House gave a small triumphant smirk before going back to blankly staring at the TV.

"Do you feel dead inside?" I asked.

"If I say yes can I finish watching the game in peace?" House asked putting the TV on mute shooting me a glare.

"House…" I said unsurely. When he didn't look at me I put a hand on his shoulder. "Greg…please?"

He gave a big sigh brushing my hand off his shoulder roughly. But he did turn off the damn television. Once again an awkward silence fell upon the room, as he stared at me daring me to continue.

"What? What do you want me to say? Oh, I'm so in touch with my feelings. Sometimes I feel like killing myself because it all hurts so much!" House said dramatically.

I bit my lip unsurely. Actually I was quite good at deciphering that sentence. "I can help you. I am your friend remember?"

"Oh God Wilson. Sometimes I wonder who's more pathetic, you or Cameron."

"Why? Because we care about you? Because we're worried about you?" I said defensively.

"No! Because you both are pathetic, and both feel the need to fix me!" He snapped.

"I want my friend back!" I yelled. "Do you think the infarction just hurt you? I watched you slowly transform Greg. Me. I was the one who was there for it. But you can tell a room full of kids the story, some of it I never even heard before, but you can't tell me?" I asked indecorously.

I felt my own heart racing for some reason. This was pathetic. I was being an idiot for even attempting to have this conversation with him. House took a gulp of his scotch. His eyes darted everywhere but towards me. I could see his jaw was tight as he tried to comprehend what to say next.

Finally he nodded quietly. "Ok." He whispered so low that I thought I had imagined it.

He said nothing more. And I gave a loud sigh as I ran my fingers through my hair. "Listen, believe it or not I worry about you sometimes." I said standing up from the couch. "I'm going home."

"Yeah," he stood as well making his way towards the piano.

He started playing a simple melody, the tune flowing freely as his fingers gracefully danced over the keys. The song slow and sad, as with most of what he writes. Vulnerability the very definition of the music, but he doesn't soften the melody. He doesn't manipulate it to be anything more upbeat. Instead he lets it play out, slowly dying out as he lifted his fingers up, away from the keys.

"You're still here," he stated looking up at me.

The beauty of the music had mesmerized me. I was standing awkwardly with my hand on the door handle, paralyzed in the position until the music had subsided.

"When am I never?"

"You're back to talking about feelings again aren't you? I swear Jimmy if I didn't know any better you're taking lessons from Cameron."

I rolled my eyes and opened the door. "Good night." I heard him mutter some sort of good bye but it got even more muffled by the sound of the door closing.

And here I am. Back on square one, though I supposed I never left it to begin with. It's funny how fucked up this friendship is. I don't know if he sees it, but I certainly do. And I don't know how to get through to him either. But then again we're talking House here. There is no longer any Greg. He was a different person. Greg was my friend, my buddy who could laugh, and say a joke to make anyone laugh. Greg was my friend who was smart and he knew it. But Greg was also modest. He was shy and compassionate, and loveable, and everything he isn't right now. House is just a replacement of Greg. No. I would agree with House. The patient is dead.

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A/N: It's a one shot, but if it gets enough reviews it can turn into something more. I hope you guys like it. It's different, and there's no slash if I do decide to continue. It's just a very strong House/Wilson friendship thing. So tell me what you think. I'm writing this by the way on my brand new computer. 

Thanks for those who read it, but decided not to review. I forgive you. Review please. It would be very much appreciated.

-Liz (4.23.07)


	2. Depression n addiction

A/n: Well I decided to continue with it. I hope those nine reviewers will review this one too. And I hope more will review. Thanks!!

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The phone rang forcefully, disturbing James Wilson from his peaceful slumber. At two rings he threw his pillow over his head in attempt to ignore it, hoping it would stop. At three rings Wilson grunted in protest and frustration. At four he yanked the phone off the receiver so hard that for a second he wondered if he pulled the entire damn socket out of the wall.

"Hello?" He said irritably.

"What would you do if I killed myself?" The words slurred together barely distinguishable in any sense.

It was enough to drive any remnants of sleep away from Wilson. His eyes fully shot open, sitting up in bed, instantly regretting it a second later as the room spun in different directions. His sleeping wife beside him was slowly stirring from her sleep to see what the commotion was all about.

"House? What are you talking about?" Wilson asked turning on the lamp on the bedside table.

"What would you do if I killed myself?" the question was repeated.

"House what's going on? Where are you? I'm coming to get you," Wilson stated throwing the covers aside and practically leaping off the bed.

"James!" Julie called out now sitting up as well.

"Where am I?" House repeated the question.

Wilson grabbed his jacket, which was thrown carelessly into his closet earlier that night. He fished around for car keys he knew were still somewhere in one of the pockets. "I'm going to take care of something." Wilson said sparing the sentence to Julie who was now worried about her husband's attitude.

"Is that Greg?" Julie demanded.

She was tired of this conversation. It was the same phone call that they've been receiving for the past couple of months. Lately it had been nearly every single day. And every single day James jumped out of bed, ready to fly to Cambodia if the time so does call for it.

Wilson nodded grabbing his wallet and cell phone from the dresser. "House, call my cell phone right now."

"I'm sorry Jimmy," House slurred.

"House are you crying?" Wilson asked taking his phone and dialing the familiar number himself. "House pick up your other line."

There was a small click before House's voice transferred to the phone in Wilson's right hand. He threw the house phone on the hallway desk as he jogged down the stairs. He slipped on the first pair of shoes he came in contact with before quickly making his way to the garage.

"I don't know what I'm doing Jimmy," House said.

Though Wilson would never admit it that statement had sent shivers down his spine. He had no idea what was going on in his friend's life lately. No, actually he knew exactly what was going on in his life. Stacey was back.

"House stay with me," Wilson encouraged. "I'll be at your place in ten minutes. Just…" Wilson threw the car into reverse, his tires screeching in protest. "Stay on the phone with me…"

"Jimmy, you're my friend," House stated with a small laugh. "I think you'd be the only one to miss me."

"That's not true. Cameron would miss you. Cuddy. Chase, Foreman," Wilson stated blowing the stoplight.

"You think? I don't. I think about what you would do. Maybe your marriage would last longer if I wasn't around."

The short drive to House's own house was cut even shorter by Wilson, who had traveled a good 20 over the speed limit most of the five minute drive. He fished for the spare keys in his pocket jamming the key in its appropriate hole and slamming the door open. He dropped his phone on the couch as he passed it, making his way to House's bedroom.

House was lying on the floor, the phone still on besides him. There were glass shards everywhere and several empty bottles of beer strewn messily on the floor. Wilson kicked the shards away from House's prone body, resisting the urge to gag at the smell of House.

"God damn it House, you're working in four hours!" Wilson muttered frustrated.

He took House by the armpits dragging him onto the bed, pushing him to lie on his sides while he went for the wastebasket. House was barely conscious throughout the whole interaction, instead staring blankly at the wall behind Wilson.

"I want to die sometimes," House said offhandedly.

"Just go sleep Greg," Wilson sighed taking a blanket and throwing it over his best friend's shivering body.

"You're my best friend Jimmy. You really are," House muttered before rolling over so his back was towards Wilson.

A couple of minutes later Wilson heard the familiar soft snore of House signaling that he was truly asleep. He ran his fingers through his hair looking at the mess in front of him. There was an empty bottle of vicodin on the floor, pills scattered around it. Wilson took note that there were only 4 pills left in the bottle, which he was sure he wrote the prescription for three days ago.

Wilson resisted the urge to kick the empty bottle across the room, knowing that it would wake House up. He walked out of the room in hunt for the broom and dustpan he knew all too well where it was placed.

It took Wilson a good twenty minutes to clean the room enough to know that House would be safe enough to walk around in the morning. He took his place on the couch grabbing his own beer on the way. He jugged it in four big gulps before setting it down on the coffee table.

The sound of House's familiar alarm going off woke Wilson from his own fitful slumber. Even from the living room he could hear House groaning in protest yelling a string of curse words while he attempted to dull the pain in his legs.

"You good back there?" Wilson called unsurely.

"What the hell happened?" House yelled back.

"You got drunk," Wilson said slowly making his way into the kitchen, where he knew House would surely limp over to. "Again." He added quietly.

"Damn. I should make Chase do all my hours today, I feel like collapsing," House said appearing in the doorstep.

Had House looked up he would have noticed the dark circles around his best friend's eyes. Wilson's eyes were bloodshot red, and his hair standing up in weird positions.

"Assuming you're not making breakfast would you like to shower first?" Wilson asked when he realized House was sticking his head above the pan in attempt to figure out what Wilson was making.

"What are you my mom?" House asked, but limped away to take his shower.

Wilson sighed out loud once he heard the shower running. It was customary to know to stay where the bathroom wouldn't be seen. House had stopped closing the doors during showers after his infarction.

Wilson moved through the kitchen skillfully maneuvering past the little island in the center, grabbing House's favorite mug from the table and filling it with water. Then he fished for two Tylenols from one of the cabinets before coming back to the table and placing it in front of House's normal place in the table. He took the four sunny-side up eggs and carefully placed them on a small serving plate, placing four waffles on top of them.

By the time House was out Wilson had set the table exactly the way he always did.

"You hungry?" Wilson asked looking away from the sports section of the morning paper to give his friend a once over.

House had dressed himself in the typical t-shirt and jeans. His eyes were bloodshot, and his gait more noticeable than usual. He walked slowly towards his chair, giving a small hiss as he slowly lowered himself into the chair.

"I have a tummy ache," House said slinging his left arm over his abdominal area protectively.

"You have a hang over," Wilson said unsympathetically.

Wilson made sure his chair screeched in protest against the hard wood floor, letting his plate and utensils clang loudly on the sink. House gave an audible whimper of pain and Wilson resisted the urge to laugh at his friend's misery.

"Is this how you treat your bald friends? Tell them they are dying and do a happy dance?" House asked rubbing his temples.

"No, this is how I treat my friend who is being a complete idiot and decides to drink himself until he was shit face," Wilson said grabbing his shoes from the living room.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," House muttered, mentally cursing him self for even thinking of sitting down in the first place.

Wilson bit back his response knowing that House's hangover was enough to make him volatile. Wilson hated having to always walk on eggshells, scared to break his already broken friend.

"You're driving," House stated grabbing his cane from it's previous position leaning against the hall table.

Wilson nodded. "Just don't puke in my car and we're all good," Wilson warned.

"God damn I feel like my head's going to explode," House muttered.

"Maybe you overdid it last night," Wilson offered.

"I thought you were my friend," House started.

Wilson gripped the steering wheel tightly; quickly losing what little patience he had that morning. House's couch, no matter how expensive wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep in, and after three hours he had woken up to a stiff neck, and intense shoulder pain. Julie had left him a message on the phone stating that Wilson might as well live at House's seeing as he was willing to jump out of bed nearly every night for the damn guy. This day was starting off horribly. The last thing he needed was House to be House.

"I am your friend," Wilson gritted.

"By choice?"

"How can you even ask me that?" Wilson asked indecorously. "I got out of bed in the middle of the night and came running to your house because you cried wolf again."

"You think I'm crying suicide?" House asked equally angry.

Wilson gave a small scoff shaking his head giving a small pathetic attempt at laughter. In all honesty he knew House wasn't crying wolf. Maybe that was what scared him each time.

House studied his friend for the moment only noticing his appearance now. Wilson had been wearing one of the spare buttons up shirts he left at House's house for occasions such as these. His tie was hanging loosely, with his hair barely combed down. It was messy which House quickly blamed on the lack of a shower he had that morning. He had bags under hit eyes, and kept massaging his neck at every possible stop.

"I don't know House. Are you? Because you call me in the middle of the night dead drunk, alone in a house full of vicodin, hating yourself more than I ever thought possible. I don't know what to think when I get phone calls in the middle of the night asking me if I care about you. And when I come over I find you drunk out of your mind, barely acknowledging my presence for the past couple of days, and once every couple of weeks before that. So please," Wilson snapped.

House nodded his head before turning to look out the window. In truth what Wilson said had hurt House. Wilson just didn't know how many times he walked in just before House planned to end his life. Always just in time to save him. It was sickening to House to think about where he would be if one of those days Wilson just hung up the phone and went back to sleep.

His head was throbbing, and by the time they got to the hospital House debated whether or not he looked like crap enough to just sit in the clinic and blend in with the other patients. He swallowed two pills taking note that those would equal four pills before he had even clocked in.

"I'm making the damn Wombat do my hours," House said straightening in posture as Wilson and he approached the entrance of the hospital.

By the time they had walked in House had mustered up enough strength to walk a somewhat normal gait. However, red rims accompanied his familiar piercing blue eyes, sweat beading down his forehead as he attempted to keep up with Wilson's own pace.

"Dr. House," Chase looked up surprised to see his boss so early. He checked his watch to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "You're on time…again…"

"Lovely. The boy can tell time," House said to Wilson. "He should get a raise."

"Morning Dr. Chase," Wilson threw Chase a small smile.

"Dr. Wilson," Chase returned.

They all stepped out of the elevator, Wilson and Chase slowing their natural pace for House to keep up.

"I heard we have a consult to do," Chase said starting the conversation.

"Is he still talking?" House asked Wilson. "Are you sure you don't want him? Willing to work for cheap"

"Sorry, your duckling," Wilson said giving Chase a small nod good bye before heading towards his own office.

He shut the door, locking it not expecting a patient for another couple of hours. His mind told him to start working on the paper work that had somehow accumulated over the night, but he didn't feel like it.

His mind was somewhere else. He wasn't a psychiatrist, but then again he didn't need to be in order to tell his friend was on a one-way ticket to hell. House looked even more like shit now that Stacey was back in the picture. Mark was consuming most of his time as he fought to find the proper diagnosis as quickly as possible. The ducklings knew well enough to not irritate House during the past couple of days, but Wilson knew better. With that in mind he got up and plucked all the books on mental illnesses off the bookcase and plopped them all down on his desk. The stack was discouraging in a sense that it piled higher than Wilson's head, towering over him as he sat at his desk. Wilson took a deep breath and grabbed a high lighter from his pencil cabinet before flipping to the page on depression and addiction in the first book.

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A/N: Please review. Thank-you. (disclaimer in first chapter) 


	3. Fight number 1

The day was normal for the most part in Wilson's point of view. He had to talk to three patients, two of them had terminal cancer, the other, a small child who barely understood Acute Myeloid Leukemia. The child was a simple touch and go procedure, if there was a bone marrow donor. House had only walked in twice the whole day, both times when he was free. Cuddy had only walked in once to complain of House's antics, which was a miracle in it's self

"Wilson! Game night," House stated busting the small office door open.

Wilson looked up from his briefcase, which he was packing to take some work home. He already had his jacket on, his tie stuffed between two file folders. He slipped his notebook full of notes on depression, addiction, substance abuse, and everything he thought House might have along with the rest of the files.

"That's different," House said pointing to the notebook.

It had stuck out to House as he watched his friend carefully tuck away each manila folder. A red cover stuck out like a sore thumb. Wilson looked down at it, trying his best to not look like a child who got caught at the cookie jar.

"What? I can't have a notebook?" Wilson asked with a small shake of the head.

"No…you don't like notebooks," House said pointing with his cane.

He limped over to the briefcase determined to take the notebook away. However Wilson was faster, and snatched it just as he saw the triumphant smile on House's face. He resisted the urge to stick out his tongue as House pouted miserably.

"I just wanted to see," House explained.

"Of course," Wilson said sarcastically throwing the notebook back into the case. "Haven't you heard of something called HIPPA?"

"Patient confidentiality…bla bla bla," House said waving it away. "Let me see."

"So you have perfect understanding of what patient confidentiality means, but yet you still beg to see something that's very clear I don't want to share with you," Wilson thought outloud.

"You're no fun," House said taking his Game Boy from his pocket and turning it on.

Wilson looked up to give a small eye roll. He looked down at his desk to make sure he had everything before moving to turn off his lamp.

"If it's game night shouldn't we be going like…five minutes ago?" Wilson asked glancing at the clock.

"Uh…duh!" House said giving his best impersonation of a valley high girl cheerleader.

House gave a big yawn, making a production of getting up and walking to the door. Wilson however, wasn't as patient as House, not really wanting to miss any of the game.

"Hope the game ends before eleven. I told Julie I was going to have dinner with a very respected doctor," Wilson said.

"Who me?" House asked confused.

"I can't very well say I'm going to be late to your parents' family dinner because I want to watch the game at House's," Wilson stated.

"What makes you think she can't see past that lie?" House questioned. "Because it seems you always are having dinner with some respected doctor. Even crashing there every now and then."

Wilson ignored House the best he could. The walk to the car was painfully long for Wilson who had to stifle a yawn before they even reached it.

"You look tired," House stated.

Wilson nodded. "I am. Want to drive?"

"SURE!" House said snatching the keys from Wilson's outstretched hands.

He limped ahead of Wilson, which was pretty pathetic in Wilson's eyes. He was dead tired. The lack of sleep was slowly catching up to him. Stacy being around was not only affecting House, but also Wilson.

"Did you drink all the beer at your house?" Wilson asked as they passed the convenience store.

"No…I only finished the scotch," House thought out loud.

Wilson turned to look out the window so House wouldn't be able to see him roll his eyes. "Perfect," Wilson muttered under his breath.

The game itself was as predictable as a Chicago Cubs game. The team who as expected to lose lost, and the other beat the loser by a disgustingly high number. Wilson had only nursed two beers throughout the hour and a half game, while House went through five within the hour.

By the time Wilson got up to leave House had somewhat passed out in his room. Wilson was quite used to House leaving him by his lonesome knowing that the poor man was probably exhausted and in extreme pain now that he had maxed out his vicodin intake for the day. Wilson tip toed quietly into House's room to say good night to his friend, but stopped when he heard House snoring slightly.

Wilson went back to the living room and picked up the empty bottles placing them on the kitchen counter before leaving. The drive to his own place was much too short for Wilson's comfort. The lights were all off except for the one in the living room, which meant Julie wanted to talk. He suppressed the urge to drive away, instead parking in his drive way and turning off the car.

Wilson didn't get a chance to even close the car door before the front door opened and out came a very furious Julie.

"Hi," Wilson said timidly, unsure of what to expect.

"Hi? Is that all I get?" Julie demanded.

"I love you?" Wilson offered.

"I called Lisa today," Julie started. Wilson groaned internally, forgetting to stop by Cudy's and ask her to cover for him again.

"Apparently you weren't representing the hospital in anything. There's no special anything going on in the hospital for the next three months James."

"I can explain…"

Wilson tried pulling Julie back towards the house where the conversation wouldn't be so public, but Julie stood her ground. Her hands were at her hips looking at Wilson expectantly.

"Go for it," Julie said her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Well you see…House…" Wilson started.

"It's always House. You're over there more than you're over here. You might as well have married him!" Julie interrupted.

"You didn't let me finish," Wilson said loosening his tie. "I was going to say House really needed a friend because his ex girlfriend who he lived with for five years showed up a couple of days ago asking House to diagnose the man."

Julie stared at Wilson, her eyes boring into his head. Wilson gave his best puppy dog eyes, in attempt to calm her down. What was only 15 seconds felt like hours to both as thoughts came and went through their mind.

"So you went to comfort him instead of come to the family dinner that I told was the one where my parents would be discussing their will." It wasn't a question.

"You have your sisters though," Wilson defended, his voice gentle. "House doesn't have anybody but me."

"I'm supposed to have you James! You're my husband. You're supposed to be there for me!"

Wilson cringed only just remembering about the will Julie had mentioned. They had been talking about it for a couple days now, Julie unsure as to what to expect. Wilson had promised to be at her side when they started the discussion of who gets what. And furthermore Wilson forgot that it was supposed to happen over dinner which, if Julie's anger was any hint, was just a couple of hours ago.

"I'm sorry," Wilson said dumbly.

He walked towards the house dejectedly leaving Julie still staring at the spot where he was seconds ago. He knew better than to close the front door and he plopped down on his own couch suddenly tired. So much for a good day.

He gave a loud sigh of defeat, running his fingers through his usually kept hair. He treasured the silence while he still could, already hearing Julie's clicking shoes coming towards him.

He watched her as she moved gracefully around the room to stand in front of the man, taking advantage of his sitting place and towering over him, hands still on her hips. She looked at him for a minute, her eyes boring into the poor man's head. Wilson couldn't stand to stare back, instead allowing her to stare at him stare at the ground. After what felt like hours she gave a large sigh.

"You're always sorry," Julie whispered defeatedly. "I'm going to bed."

Wilson looked up at her longingly, unsure whether or not to follow. When Wilson stood and Julie didn't object, he took it as his cue, following her to their bedroom, tail still firmly between his feet.

Julie had ignored him the rest of the night, which was perfectly fine with Wilson who wouldn't have known what to say anyways. She had fallen asleep hours ago, back turned towards Wilson while the man laid in bed staring up at the ceiling.

The dim light pouring in from the street lamp outside lighted the ceiling, and the shadow of the tree wrestling against the wind was on constant replay as Wilson watched thinking about the last few years.

He never really understood why he kept his friendship with House throughout the years. Maybe it was because House was the only friend who bothered to keep in contact after marriage one and two fell through the gutters. In some fucked up way House was there for Wilson, though Wilson couldn't thoroughly explain how yet. But he knew if he wanted to save marriage number three he had to figure out quickly.

Wilson was half asleep when he heard his cell phone vibrating against the nightstand he had placed it on. The noise was deafening in the quiet room but Wilson prayed that Julie didn't hear it. It slid unceremoniously down on the carpeted floor and Wilson snatched it just as the music began. He quickly looked over at Julie who looked like she was either pretending to be asleep, or actually asleep. Wilson hoped for the ladder as he slid out of the bed tiptoeing towards the door.

The floor creaked in protest and Wilson winced with each passing step. If Julie didn't wake up to the vibrating she was clearly awake now. Wilson ventured a look at Julie and bit his lip when he saw her throwing the comforter over her head, not even bothering to look at James.

"Hello?" Wilson whispered once he got into the hallway.

"Where'd you go?" House questioned.

It was the way his words somehow molded together that told Wilson that House was once again drunk.

"What did you wake up and decide that you didn't have enough beer?" Wilson asked trying to hide his own sarcasm.

He was angry, but it didn't stop him from going back into his bedroom and snatching the keys off his dresser. He quickly put on his shoes letting the quiet do most of the talking. He heard House throwing up in the background and he groaned out loud knowing that House was probably lying on his side on the floor letting himself lie back down on the pool of vomit that was probably already collecting.

"Stacey loves Mark," House stated.

"Yeah, Stacey loves Mark," Wilson reassured.

Wilson took the spare key from his pocket expertly unlocking the door, despite the lack of light on the dark night. He maneuvered around familiar corners and furniture making his way towards the source of the small light through a tiny crack from closed doors. He opened it to find House laying on his side, face in vomit.

Wilson resisted the urge to turn around and walk away, but instead taking House by the armpits and dragging him away from the vomit.

"Where are you taking me? I don't want to move," House whimpered.

"You'll thank me later when you wake up with no vomit on your face," Wilson muttered.

He made sure he laid House on his side before quickly making his way into the master bath, snatching a small bath towel from its place and drenching it in lukewarm water. The entire time House was quietly whimpering from the radiating pain of his leg, and from the dry heaves.

Wilson came back throwing the washcloth in the small basin he had prepared. He walked out of the room to grab some newspaper in which he lined the flooring around the bed with. He grabbed a clean t-shirt from House's cabinets throwing it sloppily on the bed. When Wilson decided he had postponed the inevitable long enough he turned to face House.

The way the light had somehow fallen on House made him look even more pathetic. Wilson hated the fact that House never remembered this part of the night. No, it was only Wilson who had to carry the burden of House's words for House never remembered the next day. Tomorrow House would be House, angry and hung over. Tomorrow House wouldn't remember the words he spoke of self pity, or the fact that it was Wilson who lifted him onto the bed and cleaned up his mess. Of course House knew Wilson did it, but he would never fully realize how much the man was doing, how much he was sacrificing.

Wilson grunted in frustration sweat starting to slowly develop as he wrestled with House's dead weight. Wilson was scared of hurting House so every whimper that escaped House's lips made Wilson slowly drop House back on the ground. It took Wilson nearly ten minutes to lift the man onto the bed, and then another half hour to wipe the sweat and everything off the man and change his clothes.

By the time Wilson had walked out of House's bedroom the sun had already slowly started to climb up. Wilson was dead tired, but he knew that if he went to sleep now he wouldn't be able to take up in two hours.

--

The first thing that came to mind for House was the intense wave of nausea he felt when he ventured to peek out of one eye. He felt horrible, his throat burning from the excess amount of stomach acid.

House groaned out loud in pain slowly turning to face the ceiling. Seconds later he heard the floor creaking before the door slowly opened to reveal a very tired looking Wilson.

"You're awake," Wilson stated looking at his watch. "It's a good thing I rescheduled my consult with a patient." He added absentmindedly.

"Yeah. Great. I care a lot," House said sarcastically.

"You didn't cancel with your patient," Wilson pointed out. "Chase called you about four times already."

"What time is it?" House asked slowly making his way into a sitting position.

"Well…right now it is 10:30."

House groaned internally, running his fingers through his unruly hair. He could smell the familiar scent of vomit and fabreeze, and it took nearly all the little energy he had to not vomit at the stench.

"It stinks in here."

"I'd say," Wilson said leaving the door open and walking away.

"Aren't you supposed to be my friend and get rid of the smell?" House asked.

"I'm your friend, not your maid," Wilson yelled back from the kitchen.

"Must you yell? You're only 12 feet away you know."

House sighed knowing that he was way too late to work to even think about going back to bed. Looking around he realized that for the most part Wilson had done his best to clean up. His vomit soaked shirt was lying in the corner along with a dirty white rag looking thing. The bottles which he was sure he left lying around were nowhere to be found, and his hard wood flooring didn't match, one part cleaner than the rest.

House stood up only to be met with such vertigo that he was forced to sit down again. He could hear Wilson moving around outside the bedroom. He knew that if he didn't make an appearance soon Wilson would go Cameron on him. And so he stood, slowly this time, waiting for the objects to stop spinning before reaching around for his cane.

The living room had no evidence of the night before. The glass table was shiny once again, bottle rings no longer staining it. The chips that he knew both Wilson and he dropped were gone. But Wilson's inhabitant was clearly evident. The couch had a flimsy blanket and a small pillow on it. There were books everywhere. The books that he had left on the book shelf that he was sure hadn't been touched in years were all lying scattered around the couch.

There was a highlighter lying on ground besides two open books, and a notebook full of Wilson's chicken scratch. House looked up quickly scanning the room for Wilson. He stood perfectly still trying to figure out where the man was. When he heard the shower running a grin formed on his face as he limped excitedly towards the mess.

House looked like a kid on Christmas day as he picked up the notebook and set it on his lap, one of the open books besides him on the couch. He cursed himself internally for just looking at the horrid handwriting was giving him an even bigger headache than from what he had before. But it looked interesting, and from the looks of how many books were scattered and how many pages were filled Wilson was doing this for awhile.

"Let's see what Jimmy's been up to," House mumbled quietly to himself flipping through the pages.

He skimmed through the pages trying to see which words he could decipher before he had to go grab a nonexistant James Wilson to standard handwriting translation guide.

"Serotonin?" House questioned.

The word seemed to be littered on every page of the notebook. The book besides read "Understanding the world of Prozac" House looked on intrigued noticing how much time Wilson had actually put in as he read further and further more. All important words high lighted with little foot notes at the bottom explaining why it was high lighted.

House's boredom was starting to get the best of him around five minutes into the investigation, and he was about to set everything down and go back into his own room when he flipped to a random page in the notebook.

It read: "House's symptoms of depression and addiction."

A/N: I hope you like and I hope you review. It's the reviews that keep me writing. It seriously is.


	4. Guilt

A/N - I'm really bad at grammar so I was wondering if anyone would want to help me out a little with it.

Disclaimer - I own nothing but the story line

* * *

"Have you guys seen House?" Wilson asked poking his head into the conference room.

The ducklings were all packing to go home for the day and House was still nowhere to be found. House had conveniently avoided Wilson all day, much to the doctor's annoyance. So far he had used clinic duty, lunch with the coma guy, and Cuddy as excuses whenever Wilson had seen him in the hall.

He was sure House found his books when he was in the shower. One thing for sure was that someone moved the things. Knowing House Wilson wasn't all that surprise.

"He's in his office," Cameron said pointing towards the shut door.

Wilson gave a small nod and muttered thanks as he strode over to the door. He gave one knock in warning before entering. He blinked a couple of times trying to adjust to the dark room. House's blue eyes radiated, illuminating the room enough to scare Wilson a little. He shook his head and flicked on the light suddenly, causing House to blink back in surprise, and anger.

"Somehow I don't think this is your office," House said glaring at Wilson.

"Let me guess…you saw my work station," Wilson sighed, walking towards the desk before plopping down on the seat across from House.

"Never knew you were deciding on taking two specialties. Oncology and psychiatry…"

"House," Wilson started.

"No it's ok. I get it. I mean you've been on this little tangent about the whole Vicodin thing and then recently the whole alcohol thing. Why shouldn't you add depression to your little list Dr. Wilson," House spat out putting an emphasis on doctor. "You do know best, right Jimmy?"

"House come on! I'm trying to help you!" Wilson pleaded.

"Forget it. I don't need your help. Go home to Julie. Don't worry. Tonight I won't call you. You might add pathetic to your list," House said slinging his bag over his shoulders.

Wilson watched dumbly as House limped out of the room. He gave a big sigh rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. The room felt too small all of a sudden and walked dejectedly towards House's patio. He jumped the small barrier to get to his office, collecting his things before heading out to the elevator as well.

* * *

"Do you have something on your mind Hun?" Julie asked interrupting Wilson from his thoughts.

Wilson shook his head, picking at his dinner half-heartedly. "Nothing. Just a patient…"

"Child? Leukemia? Those always get to you," Julie sat down besides Wilson taking a small sip of his water.

"No. Nothing like that. I'm just really worried about…you're going to think I'm stupid."

"Honey…there's nothing you can do that will make me…" Julie stopped mid sentence, unable to reassure Wilson like she wanted.

How could she say there's nothing that he did that made him look stupid? There were a lot of things he did that made him look stupid. A lot.

Wilson narrowed his eyes before giving an audible sigh. "See."

"Try me," Julie suggested.

"Well House…"

"You're right I think it's stupid."

Wilson cringed, feeling his ears start to turn red in repressed anger. "House is showing signs of depression."

"He's always been showing signs of depression. Also been showing signs of being a jerk," Julie said standing up and grabbing Wilson's half picked dinner off the table.

"You just never got to know him," Wilson defended. "He's my best friend you know."

Julie scoffed and yelled over her shoulder, "Don't remind me."

"I don't want to have this argument with you again," Wilson stated walking into the kitchen.

In all honesty he had a pounding headache. He already knew Julie's view of House. She had made it quite clear the first time they met when House told her she wanted him for the sex and the money. Julie rolled her eyes but allowed herself to bite her tongue. Tonight had been unusually good and she didn't want to ruin it. After all, James was home for dinner, and that was an accomplishment.

Both didn't say anything as Wilson subconsciously reached for a dishtowel, drying each dish Julie handed to him. He wanted to talk House but each time he tried calling it said his phone was off the hook. He tried the cell phone but it was turned off. He tried paging the guy a couple of times but he never returned the page. Wilson was worried. House was the type of person to act before thinking. And if he didn't answer soon Wilson knew that he would have to ruin the "perfect evening" by checking on House.

* * *

"I guess you're hungry aren't you Steve?" House muttered placing some food in the rat's cage. "Yeah I'm hungry too."

House watched the rat nibble at the lettuce selfishly. It had been a hell of a long day. They of course had to speak to Stacy and Mark about his progress and all that fun stuff. For the most part he only grunted in agreement or disagreement. He allowed Chase and Foreman to do most of the talking. Cuddy had busted through his glass doors, pointing towards the elevator, and ordered him down to clinic duty.

House smirked remembering Cuddy's shocked face when he voluntarily stood up, and made his way towards the clinic without being told 10 times. Then there was Wilson, who seemed to rather enjoy a game of Hide and Seek. House didn't plan on seeing Wilson the entire day, so of course Wilson set out hunting for him.

"I'm not depressed," House announced to himself, making his way to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and grabbed for the peanut butter. "I'm hungry, not depressed."

House fixed himself a sandwich. Once complete he reached for a familiar bottle of scotch, taking both to the living room. He plopped down on the couch, turning the TV onto Spongebob in a desperate attempt for some comedic laughs.

It had been four hours later when House finally turned off his TV, stumbling across his living room in a drunken haze. _Fuck who moved all the furniture…ok I can do this…House you can do this!_

House ran into his tall lamp, trying to grab hold of it before it shattered to the ground. Unfortunately, his hand eye coordination was at this point practically non existent, and he quickly accompanied the lamp on the ground. _Ow. That hurt._

"I think I'mdrun," he said out loud. "Stevey drun. Wilson's gonna be mad…"

House gave a loud laugh as he slowly attempted to pull himself from the floor. "I'm screwed Stevey." House fell back on the floor as the table toppled over him, glass shards penetrating his shaking arms.

"OW!" He hissed in pain, staring at the blood that was starting to pour out. "That hurt. Wilson!"

House gave another loud yell, his call for Wilson more like a pathetic plea than anything else. "Stevey I'm tired."

House whimpered as the adrenaline slowly left his body. His stomach was doing flip flops, forcing him to vomit besides him. "Wilson…" he called out loud every few minutes, though knowing very well that Wilson wasn't there. The vomit reeked and the smell made him vomit even more. He could feel the sharp glass everywhere, yet when he tried moving his leg protested badly. Sleep was calling for him, but the doctor in him told him it would be very bad to do so.

The somewhat tidy apartment had become a war zone as it's owner laid helplessly on the ground. The expensive glass coffee table embedded pieces into House's skin, blood accompanying the vomit on the floor. The light was out after he toppled over the lamp. The only light came from the kitchen, and even then House felt like that light was too bright.

"I need Wilson…" he muttered slowly allowing the darkness swallow him.

* * *

Wilson stared at the ceiling unable to fall asleep. Julie and he had retired fairly early to the comforts of their bed. It was a good day with minimal fighting which meant only one thing to both Wilsons. Julie had fallen asleep immediately after, while Wilson chose to stay up. And so here he was three hours later still staring at the ceiling.

He had a bad feeling in his stomach. Something was wrong. House still refused to answer the phone. Wilson wasn't sure how long he would allow himself to wait in bed. Leaving now would be fatal if he wanted to keep this marriage working, but at the same time it was House. He was like an oversized six-year-old left in a non-childproofed house.

Wilson didn't know how long he stayed in bed. He didn't know how long he sat and waited for some kind of hint that he should leave. Sometime during the night Julie had somehow draped an arm around him protectively, something she hadn't done in months. And Wilson laid painfully still with the guilt eating away at his insides. Guilt for not being the proper friend, and guilt for not being the proper husband.

The phone rang startling Wilson from his slumber. He jumped in surprise before groaning, instantly regretting the previous action as the sun poured unfiltered through his glass windows, the rays falling on him. He stole a glance at the time and cursed silently as he threw the covers off, yanking the phone from it's previous position.

He stole a quick glance on the caller ID before cursing to himself silently. "SHIT."

"Dr. Cuddy. I know I'm late," Wilson started the explanation. "I didn't plan on it, it's just my alarm clock was off and I…"

"Wilson," Cuddy's voice was soft, very different from the demanding angry boss voice Wilson was expecting.

"What's wrong," Wilson asked immediately stopping dead in his tracks.

He didn't feel Julie leave the bed in the morning. He didn't notice the water running, or the slam of the front door as Julie left for work. The fact that he had slept through it all made him start to wonder just how long did he stay in bed thinking about House. When exactly did he fall asleep? And why had he slept for so long.

"Ok, before I start, everything's under control," Cuddy said choosing her words very carefully.

Wilson rolled his eyes starting to once again gather his things. "Cuddy, if that was supposed to reassure me it didn't work."

"Are you sitting?" Cuddy asked.

"Should I be?" Wilson walked towards his bed and sat impatiently at the corner. "I'm sitting. What's wrong?"

"It's House…"

* * *

A/N - See what I mean by bad grammar? Well if anyone's interested it would be greatly appreciated. Hope you guys liked the update and encourage me to continue by reviewing if you want me to do so.

Thanks


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